


Scars

by 27WOTrace



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Deaf Character, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27WOTrace/pseuds/27WOTrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has been a bit closed off since New York. Clint assumes it's because of what he did under Loki's control, but he's really quite wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is me still procrastinating Nano and writing somewhat buzzed without the editing sober part. Beware? There's also a lot of feelings on both sides. 2. Clint's views on himself somewhat show through in the narration here. 3. I may change the horrible summary later, when I wake up in a few hours.

Clint wasn’t sure what to think when Phil seemingly went out of his way to avoid too much physical contact. Kissing seemed okay, but the moment Clint’s hands went under clothing or tried to strip any off, Phil became standoffish in a way that Clint had never seen him before. It made him back off immediately each time. He would either back down to kissing and small touches or find something to become ‘distracted’ with.

Occasionally Phil would initiate a kiss. It would be late at night, and Phil would switch the lights off. Those were the only times things ever got further than that. Phil would keep foreplay short and as limited as possible, and he insisted on fucking Clint from behind or being fucked from behind. It only added to the confusion. Phil was, prior to the New York incident, loving and touchy, and he liked teasing Clint endlessly. He’d run his tongue along one of Clint’s scars and finger him until Clint was practically begging him to get on with it.

He wasn’t sure how to take the changes at first. His head was already in a dark place. He’d done bad things in his past, and he’d messed up missions that wound up costing people their lives. He’d failed to save people before, but he hadn’t ever gone and killed agents or nearly taken down the Helicarrier before that. He still thought about it more than he should. Those were good people, good agents with families that were given bullshit causes of death. 

Natasha would sometimes try to get him to open up. If anyone knew what it was like, it was her, but he couldn’t. Finding out Phil had died by the very man that had taken over his mind had broken something in him. Finding out he was alive hadn’t exactly fixed it. Having Phil had eased it at first. He’d had a distraction, the love of his life, to think about. He had the Avengers even, but the distance between himself and Phil seemed to grow more and more every day. It was the first time he found some form of distance to be a bad thing.

Maybe Phil did blame him for what he did. Maybe Phil blamed him for not stopping Loki before. He was supposed to be watching the cube. He had been, really. He just couldn’t resist the magic or whatever it was that Loki possessed. He’d hoped the loss of most of his hearing would keep anyone from ever trying to mess with his head again, but then his entire world got flipped upside down by Norse gods and aliens. 

Good men and women had died. Phil might understand that he hadn’t meant it, but even Clint knew there were many, many agents that still blamed him for his weakness. Maybe Phil couldn’t look past that. It had still been Clint’s hands, and Clint’s arrows. His skill, his eyes, and his talent that he had been so proud of. He couldn’t exactly blame Phil for any of those feelings when he had them all himself, and he knew that others did as well. 

He let it wear at him for days and weeks. He used missions to deal with his emotions. He drove himself into the ground. He didn’t have to think beyond what had been beaten or trained into him. 

After one particular rough mission, he bypassed seeing medical or even going to Fury. Phil was at home, supposedly resting. Phil never took it easy, really. The only reason he was home today was because Fury ordered him to take the day off. 

He headed to their home and crawled into bed after stripping his pants off. He left his vest and underwear on and crawled into bed, not carrying that they were somewhat uncomfortable. He hadn’t even looked through the house to see where Phil was or what he was up to.

The mattress dipped a few minutes later under someone else’s weight. He felt a hand in his hair, and he opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said softly. Sometimes he forgot all the negative thoughts when Phil ran his fingers through his hair like this. Those weren’t the actions of someone who blamed him for those sorts of actions.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, not sure what else to say. The words didn’t feel right when the left his lips, but they were all he could think of. 

“For what?” Phil asked with a little frown.

“For what I did,” Clint said. His voice was just above a whisper. He didn’t meet Phil’s eyes as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to. I never would have hurt them otherwise…” He found himself falling short with his words. He’d thought these things so many times before that he should be able to spew apologies for hours. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Phil whispered back. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Clint’s forehead. “You didn’t do those things. Loki did. You were not the only one who he did that too.”

Clint found himself at a loss for words. Part of himself wanted to say these were lies to placate him, but he knew Phil better than that. Phil was the most manipulative man he’d ever met, but Phil didn’t use those skills on people he cared about. He might use those damned puppy eyes and the entirely too innocent looking face for a man that could dismantle entire countries in a day, but he didn’t manipulate with words and emotions.

“I think you should see someone, Clint,” Phil told him, his fingers still in Clint’s hair. He played with the wild strands. They stuck up every which way. “Dr. Selvig is struggling too. What Loki did to you was… rough,” to say the least, but he couldn’t think of a better way to phrase it. 

“I hurt people. Agents,” Clint argued.

“You also helped take Loki out once Natasha got you set right again. You were just as important to the team as Natasha or Bruce. You still are,” Phil pulled him close to himself.

Clint twisted so he was lying on his side. He pressed his cheek against Phil’s shoulder and moved to rest his hand on Phil’s chest. The older man flinched slightly, causing Clint to sigh softly. “Then why won’t you let me touch you?”

Phil frowned at the question. He knew Clint was looking up to him for an answer, but he didn’t look down to meet his gaze. “I do,” he said. Even his tone gave away that he knew that wasn’t what Clint meant. “I… it’s not like what you’re thinking, Clint.”

Phil had just put all the pieces together in his mind. Clint was connecting his odd behavior with what he had done under Loki’s control, which Phil didn’t blame him for. He knew Clint was struggling. He had been for awhile. The SHIELD psychologist had thrown around words like depression before, which he thought was perfectly reasonable given what Clint had dealt with in life. Loki screwing with his head certainly didn’t help that. Clint had always wanted to help people, not hurt them. He just didn’t know how to tell Clint the real reason. 

“What is it then?” Clint asked, sitting up and looking down at him. There was confusion clear on his face as he struggled to understand.

Phil sighed. He placed one of his own hands over his chest, just over the center. He knew there was a large, vicious scar there. He’d always loved Clint’s scars. He knew many of them came from a terrible past. The two long, silver ones on his shins being from just a year and a half before he had met the man, barely a man at the time.

The scars all told a story, and they reminded him that Clint had been through hell and was still there. They reassured him in an odd way. If Clint had survived all that, then surely he could survive the next mission, right?

Phil had several of his own, even. He even had a few large, angry looking ones. A person didn’t get to his position without having a little bit of damage done along the way, but the one on his chest, right in the center and just over his heart that stretched several inches long… that one he didn’t like. It was large and ugly. It stood out so much more than the others, and he hated it despite what it meant.

Clint reached out and laid his hand over Phil’s. “What’s going on in that head of your’s?” He asked, sensing the way Phil’s mood had changed entirely.

“I just don’t want you to see it,” Phil said finally, more or less blurting the words out. It was the only way he was going to get them out. 

“See wha-” Realization was clear on Clint’s face when it clicked in his head.

He felt guilty for making this whole thing about him. He should have figured it out sooner. He should have known, and he wouldn’t have let Phil think that about himself, any part of himself. He was so used to seeing Phil as this indestructible force that it didn’t even occur to him. Lately he’d been ignoring anything that even slightly reminded him that Phil wasn’t actually indestructible. He never wanted to see the face of his dead lover again. He’d insisted on watching the video feed, and he really wished he hadn’t. 

“Why?” He asked softly, wanting immediately to touch and see. It reminded him that Phil was human, but he wanted to see it. It would remind him that Phil had also lived. He’d fought long and hard to survive, and he shouldn’t feel ashamed of the scar that had been left behind by such a deadly injury.

Phil gave a one-shouldered shrug, “You shouldn’t have to.”

“You’re an idiot, Phillip Coulson,” Clint said softly. He moved Phil’s hand away and pressed his own flat, gently, against the area. He had been so afraid of causing pain or so long, he still couldn’t help but be extremely gentle. “You’re gorgeous. This doesn’t change anything,” he ran his fingers over it, wishing the fabric wasn’t stopping him from feeling the scarred flesh underneath.

“You really know how to make someone feel better,” Phil said softly. He closed his eyes and let Clint touch freely for the first time since he had died and come back.

“Sorry, Boss, but you didn’t recruit me for my people skills,” Clint said with a little smile.

Phil peaked an eye open to see the smile on Clint’s face, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “No, I certainly did not.”

Clint slipped his hand under Phil’s shirt. He felt the way the man tensed and forced himself to relax. He wasn’t entirely successful, but he didn’t push Clint away. 

“You’ve always loved my scars…”

“They’re part of you,” Phil said softly.

“So’s this. You lived,” Clint ran his thumb over the edge of the puckered skin. “You came back to me.” He could feel guilty about making this all about him later. Right now, he wanted to make sure Phil understood just how much he loved him and his scars, all of them.

“‘course,” Phil said as if it was obvious he would have all along, spear through the chest or not.

Clint rolled his eyes dramatically, even though Phil wasn’t looking. “Stubborn old man,” he whispered. He pushed Phil’s shirt up, though it seemed more like wiggling and tugging until he got it up enough. Phil didn’t seem to cooperate with that part. He leaned down to press a kiss at the edge of the scar.

“You’re not that much younger than me, Barton.” Phil opened his eyes to look up at him.

Clint sat up a bit so he could smile down at him. “Maybe not, but that’s probably not going to stop me from teasing you.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Phil’s lips while still running his fingers over the scar. He hated that Loki put it there, and he hated that Phil had to suffer. It didn’t mean he hated the scar or the way Phil looked now. It just showed him how strong his stupid lover really was. 

Phil kissed him back. He broke the kiss prematurely, earning a small whine. “You’re still going to talk to a psychologist,” he said.

Clint pulled a face. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“I’m not, I’m just-” whatever else Phil was going to say was cut short when Clint leaned down and sucked just to the right of the scar. The scar itself might not have any sensitivity, but the skin around it seemed to be.


End file.
